I do not own Hellsing, nor am I making any sort of profit from these writings.
The dank basement trapped the smoke and dust from the street outside, causing it to flow gently about her head in an otherworldly halo. Calling it a basement was, she supposed, a compliment. It was more of a bunker. Tactical maps lined the walls, red lines that were neatly drawn forming the perimeter of the Hellsing camp. Several old radios were piled in the corner, moved out of retirement to serve as the main instruments of the 'communications hub' that was her new office. She often mused that she knew what Sir Penwood must have felt, always surrounded by subordinates at work. Flipping switches, drawling out routine checks with the border patrols, scribbling down reports, cursing and laughing and patting each-other on the back. At first she hadn't been sure what there was to laugh about. She, herself, had spent hours hunched over the dining-room table that had been pressed into service as the command center's central workstation, sorting out rations and ammunition and where the hell they were going to get this, that, and the other. But as time wore on and things clicked into place, she often indulged in a smile or a congratulatory nod. They were all alive, and that was better than most.
England had been effectively quarantined. Not even the Queen could leave- any planes moving outside of Britain's airspace were shot down without any hesitation by those outside- boats were sunk, bridges burned. She liked to think that there was a growing campaign to help them in the rest of the world, but any hope of immediate aid had been lost months ago. It could take years for them to sort out any sort of screening policy to determine what was alive, and what was dead but still on its feet. Until then, she was on her own to keep the last pockets of her people alive.
Her pale green military-issue tank top clung to her form with the heat- she could only imagine what it must be like outside the relatively cool concrete room. A band held her hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck, the ends of her hair brushing the backs of her olive-green issued pants, which in turn were tucked in to sooty combat boots. The general military uniform these days consisted of whatever you were wearing when the world ended, patched up to remain functional. Cold blue eyes darted over a handwritten list of casualties- she had three houses to visit today. Sir Hellsing had taken to visiting the families herself as a form of self-punishment. The fate of the world had rested on her shoulders, and in the end? To these people, she had failed. In her own mind her duty had not yet ended, not until the last human on this now-Godless island was either safe or dead.
Her scarred hand rose to wipe sweat from her eyes, and while she did so, a hush fell upon the room. Integral dropped her weary limb to her side, lifting her eyes from the desk to the man in front of her. Man? No, not a man. The monster... the monster that had saved and destroyed her world. She opened her lips to speak his name... and stopped. No, he didn't go by that anymore. She settled for a tired, "Count."
The Count stared back at her from under inky black waves of hair, mouth set in a grim line. The goatee that never grew still ran along his jaw, the red gaze that never lost intensity still bored into her head. She noted with mild disinterest that he'd pulled his hair back to mirror hers- a low ponytail at the base of the neck. She'd laugh if the sight of him didn't leave her so tired. He had also settled on a method of dress- no red, only the white button-down, a neat black cravat, white vest, and black pants. For him, this was plain- but it still made him stand out like an oil painting in a room full of sketched soldiers with sad eyes. Not wary- it had been months since the world ended, and they had grown accustomed to him sweeping in the door to deliver reports to Sir Hellsing. "My Lady."
With this the room slowly was moved into motion again, men and women setting back to work. After inspecting her domain with weary cerulean eyes, Integra switched her gaze to him, lifting a questioning brow. "Do you have something for me?" He shook his head slowly, much to her surprise. "I have work to do, Count--"
His low rumble cut through her sentence like an axe. "It's for me, but I thought you might like to know." A rustle of paper and his hand rose, gesturing with an envelope. "I've gotten a summons from Her Majesty."
She stared at the letter dangling from his long fingers with obvious disbelief. Integral held out her hand for the envelope and he set it on the table, sliding it forward with a hiss of paper on wood. Her hand fell to lightly trace the whorls and loops of the ink addressing it. Either he was playing a very elaborate and entirely unwelcome mindgame, or the letter sitting on her desk was indeed from the Queen herself...
... with 'Vlad Dracula' quite plainly written on the front.
Sir Hellsing grunted. "When do you go?" She looked for a clock out of habit and then remembered that there weren't any down here. That would have to be remedied, if there was a clock to be found.
He tapped the letter once with a long forefinger and then caught it up, slipping it in a pocket. "Now." The Queen's little flat was near the center of their encampment- also on the way to where Lily was waiting for news of Private Gregory. The first stop on her little list of woe.
Integra clomped around the desk and headed towards the door. "I have a visit to make on the way, I'll walk you." A quick nod to Joseph and command was passed. She broke out into the smoky air with little more than a choking gasp. The raging fire that had consumed London left them with a permanently gray sky, and ash settling on surfaces like a very thin layer of ever-present snow. Her boots sent puffs of it up with each thud on the cracked pavement, and it began to stick to the sweat beaded on her chest- turning deep bronze skin a dusty charcoal. She stuck her hands in her pockets and gave him a glance... only to find him watching her with an expression that bordered on sadness. "Count?"
The emotion snapped from his eyes to be replaced with cool indifference. "Yes?" He matched her stride, the dust kicked up by his dress-shoes simply dancing about his form- never settling. She parted her lips to answer and was drawn up short by him abruptly turning his back. Already they were at the steps up to the Bureaucrat's Nest, as it was called resentfully by the men. He shot her a powerful glance over his shoulder, and then tapped up the steps and melted through the closed door.
Sir Hellsing watched the door in wary curiosity for a long moment- but there were weeping women to console and she had a duty to fulfill.
He gently rapped on the doorway, causing the head of the maid pouring tea to jump up. She smiled nervously at him, and a frail hand rose from the armchair to pat the poor girl's arm. "Go on, Madeline." The maid stepped back, gave a little curtsy and moved towards him- he stepped aside to allow her to pass. Wide honey-brown eyes looked up at him with mild wonder and then with a bounce of dark curls she was gone. He reached into the halls and swung the doors in, closing them. Heavy silence hung in the air as he crossed the room, moving to the front of the chair to kneel at her feet. "Your Majesty." Crimson eyes darted over her form and he felt his heart sink. She had aged so fast in only a few months... visions of her bright and shining face at her coronation flooded his mind and he moved one of his own hands to cover hers. This brought a broken smile to her face. "Count... look at you." His eyes flicked to hers, sadly smiling down at him. "You look splendid. I think a grown man suits you much better than..." She trailed off, remembering.
He gave her the silence of memory for as long as he could, before, "... Your Majesty?"
A deep sigh escaped her throat when he spoke. He fell silent to make way for her words. "It's time. I'm not long for the world." She choked a bit on her admission, and he applied a light pressure to her hand. "And you have done what you have always meant to do. You are free, Count. One might say this is reward enough for your deeds... but that was a choice made by Sir Hellsing to salvage the situation, not a gift from the Crown." As her thin voice wavered on, he quirked a brow, and a small smile began to play on his face. "You have saved my life, and the life of what citizens remain. I cannot thank you enough- and in light of this, I will grant you what I know you so richly desire."
A low, rumbling growl built in his chest, growing into a bitter chuckle. "Your Majesty... she will not like it." This was a gross understatement, and they both knew it. "She will curse your memory, and she will resent me until the end of eternity."
The dry reply was tinged with a dark humor. "That," she drawled, "and that alone, is my gift to you. It is in writing on the table there, with my signature and seal." He leaned over and gingerly took the envelope, staring at it blankly before dropping it in a pocket. When he turned back to her, tears rolled down her withered cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed them chastely away, summoning a small smile to her face. "Thank you, Count."
He rose to his full height, eyes smouldering. "No... Your Majesty. Thank you." He stepped around the chair, gently opening the doors as not to startle her. Naturally the maid was waiting patiently on the other side- he spared her only a passing glance before striding down the hall at a brisk pace.
Nightfall.
The walls were safe- he'd checked them thrice and thrice again to be sure. No one. Nothing. If he listened he could hear the far-off thunder of weaponry, but this was only natural- Seras and her crew were closing in on the encampment after a seven-day excursion. This would draw attention to the gate when they let the supply team in, but that was nothing that his little Draculina couldn't supervise. He was free from his job as guardian tonight, and he had a royal order burning a hole in his vest pocket.
He stopped by the command center first- the night shift was in an Harold gave him a sharp nod of recognition... but Sir Hellsing was not in evidence. He turned his feet towards her barracks. Nothing. her cot was made, but otherwise untouched. He scowled and stalked down the row of bunks, emerging into the night air once more. A deep, unnecessary breath filled his lungs and then he split into a thousand beings, leathery wings sweeping over the semi-ruined section of city the walls enclosed. It did not take long to find her. A thousand blind eyes stared at the lonely figure hunched over the edge of the roof of one of the civilian buildings.
He collected himself in a pile behind her, molding and shaping his body to his new 'usual.' The soles of his shoes crunched on the ashen and crumbling concrete as he moved to stand beside her hunched form. Her head rose, face turning enough to regard him with one icy eye. "Count." Hearing her say that in the beginning had excited him. Now, it was only a weary testament to what they had become... or, more accurately, what remained of them.
"Sir Hellsing." He let the name roll from his lips and she shifted beside him. He half expected a tendril of smoke to work its way from her lips... but the supply of tobacco had run out months ago, to his delight. She'd be much healthier without the stuff. He looked to her fully and was lightly hit by her beauty, as he was every time her eyes met his. Her long, platinum hair was still tied back- he noted with distaste that it was in need of a thorough combing. New scars laced her visible skin- arms, chest, neck, face- the car crash had been surprisingly kind to her, leaving her with only one slash across her nose and cheek. She'd joked that it made her 'ruggedly handsome,' and he silently agreed. It gave her a certain air of experience that she had previously been lacking. In the attack on London, she'd lost her last vestiges of innocence and belief in complete control. Radiant. "Orders from Her Majesty." He drew the envelope that contained his reward from his vest pocket, stood tall, and watched the confusion play over her face as she stood to match him- Integral Hellsing was abnormally tall for a woman, but still had to look up to meet his eyes.
"Oh?" She reached out and took the envelope from him with a battered hand, breaking the seal and slipping the handwritten note from its sleeve.
"Integra." He wanted to see her face just once more before the anger set in. She looked up at him, eyebrow raised, fingers poised to unfold the letter. He raked her face with his eyes, memorizing each feature of her good-natured expression. He struggled with himself- he was a monster, incapable of love. Love was a human emotion, no? He did not love this woman. But the madness that was his obsession was coming to a peak. His time with her in the way she had always known it was coming to an end. It would pain her. He felt a twinge, somewhere, but chose to ignore it. Her pain would only illuminate her more. She had been so tired, so worn. Perhaps... perhaps this would breathe some life back into her, if only in the form of rage.
Her rage he could handle. He knew her anger like a lover's body- what to press when to illicit the most enticing noises, the curves to caress to draw forth ire and resentment by turns. He knew when to drown her protests with his own mouth, when to let her speak freely. He could bring her to that boiling point, tease her with the release of inflicting physical pain and then violently bring her over the edge with a grin or a brush of hands. She, too knew his game, and sometimes struck a hidden nerve that sent him to the brink himself.
But sadness, he knew little of. It had never fallen to him before to lick her wounds, to wrap her in an embrace and heal her heart. He was tasked with her mind and philosophy, Walter with her body and soul. Now he was gone, and she had no one left. Another twinge deep inside him. How very lonely...
Something must have slipped somewhere because her hand holding the letter fell to her side, and her stare softened. "Al-... Pardon, Count...?"
He shook his head sharply, and gestured to the note.
Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing,
There are no commendations grand enough to decorate you- what you have done for myself, England, and the world is too great a thing for a molded scrap of metal dangling from a ribbon. You have my heartfelt gratitude. Not only did you defeat the menaces that threatened to destroy us completely... but you defeated yourself, which is more than anyone can say, save a handful of men and women lost to the annals of time. I am so proud of you, and I know your father is smiling.
Even though my time is passing, I cannot release you from your age-old duty. I apologize for this, Integra. You will continue to protect those that remain from the things that would hunt them- I trust you to remain strong even after my death. I have faith in you, Sir Hellsing. I always have. My gift of thanks to you is also in this envelope- I trust you will care for it well.
But, to business.
The Crown owes a debt of gratitude not only to you, Sir Hellsing, but to those who serve you. To be clear- those who serve you no longer. To Seras Victoria, and to the vampire Alucard- Count Tepes. I leave Ms. Victoria's situation in your most capable hands. But, the Count and I have long had an understanding of his deepest desire- and I have seen fit to grant it as reward.
Congratulations, Contessa.